Layman's Terms
by walkingdisastersharkchild
Summary: Honestly, when it came down to it, they shouldn't have dressed up the words to get their point across. Alistair/F!Amell DEAD
1. Chapter i

**Gwynaeth Amell is my mage. After I finished my playthrough with her, I thought that there were certain things the character I was imaging would have done. So this is it.**

**I'm trying my humour here as well. It's dry, lathered with innuendos and not to be taken seriously. Please, if you honestly do not get a joke, it probably has no relevance to later events. I'm being completely honest.**

**And, hey, more dialogue in this beginning chapter than my last one. I'm actually proud of that. Don't know if I should be, but I am. And _why_ does everything appear smaller here. My paragraphs were _huge_ in Word! I swear.  
**

**Anyway, read, hopefully enjoy, and reviews of any kind are loved.  
**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Dragon Age, I'd have to do my own voice-overs. That would be lame.  
**

* * *

She had been drifting off into a rather pleasant sleep when the voices hit her like a hammer. The water was just tempting her to forget all of her worries and stress, and fall back into the Fade. It was a truly tempting thought, but words hit home faster than the exhaustion did, and she groggily smiled at the newcomers.

"I _knew _we'd find you here, Gwynaeth."

"Where else would I be, Cissa? Studying? The thought just boggles the mind!"

The mage laughed at such a thought. She didn't study as much as she should have, but that didn't bother her. After a string of mentors, each giving up hope or just packing up and leaving, she saw no need to study. And besides, the First Enchanter (who _grudgingly_ took her under his wing) didn't set her homework of any kind. So, studying was absolutely _pointless_ in her books. Group lessons didn't count either, as they would have to regale such things to mentors later, and learn further from them.

Besides, _p__rimal_ magic didn't call for books. It called for blowing things up, that's what. She made that very clear on her first lesson with Irving. She would delve into other things on the odd occasion, but she was focusing on destruction and raw power. If he could live with that, she said, they would have a wonderful apprenticeship between them. If not, Greagoir would probably aim to have her head cut off.

He agreed, and she was still breathing after a year and a half. Lovely the way things work out, sometimes.

"I would have said the male dormitories, but then again," another called, smirking at her.

"Oh, hush. You are just jealous, Laura, that _I_ found a way in. I'd show you, but you would eat me halfway."

The woman stomped, already angry at such things. "I would not!"

"That's not what she meant, Laura. Don't talk to her. She's evil."

Gwynaeth grinned as the familiar tune of her friend's voice hit her ears.

"How do you know what I am actually talking about? I could be talking about lovely, fluffy bunnies, and just using other terms," she directed at the voice, eyebrow raised in challenge.

Whilst Cissa, Laura and another mage, by the name of Hannah, gathered necessary items for their own baths, the other sat by the far wall, book in lap and no attention directed towards her at all.

Gwynaeth was _wounded_.

"Rhoswen, the water less tempting than the book you hold in your hands, hmm?"

The elf looked up at her, eyes narrowed. "Keep that mouth of yours shut, Amell. I'll do what I like, when I like."

"Too bad that belief _still_ hasn't landed you on your back."

There was a loud bang, and Gwyn smirked as her shield held the elf's rather _rude_ bout of lightning. How dare she throw something that would boil her in her bath! Now she really was bleeding all over the stone at such things.

She also sent a small prayer of thanks towards Irving for helping her with such a thing. Of all the magical wonders she had in her hands, her shields were improving the most, more so than her fireballs. And with Rhoswen constantly _attacking _her, they were getting the most attention.

"I'm _hurt_."

"You are _vile_."

"And you still insist on giving me your lecture notes. Admit it, you _worship _the bloody ground I walk on."

"I think you are a self-centred, arrogant -"

"Cruel, undisciplined, non-virginal _bitch_. I _have_ heard it all before. And all of it from you, even."

The elf huffed, but remained seated, eyes locked onto the words in front of her in an attempt to forget the red-head and her bothersome presence.

Gwyn felt rather victorious, claiming the elf's silence as a triumph - which dashed Rhoswen's hope of forgetting her once that stupid smile made it onto Gwyn's face.

But as this was a frequent thing between the two, her victory meant little. She loved the elf like her sister and more, and would do anything for her. She would reshape the stars if Rhoswen desired so.

Whilst she was loud, _slightly_ salacious and upfront, Rhoswen Surana was her polar opposite. She was quiet and studious, turning her nose up at Gwyn's remarks on more occasions than not. She would never admit it aloud, but she did care for the human more than she let on. Her pride wouldn't allow her to admit such a thing, though.

But she would _never _worship the ground Gwyn walked on. Ugh, the thought gave her the chills!

The other women present paid no heed to such things, as this was a common occurrence, after all. When they weren't insulting each other, something _dreadful _was bound to happen. Gwyn had even stated such a thing herself before being thrown off her chair by Rhoswen.

Rhoswen would call her every name she could think of, and then some, at the slightest comment. It always ended with her over-reacting that _tiny_ bit, and some form of mana would clash and people would move on.

They knew it was how they showed affection for each other. A change in such things would scare them both. This they knew and it kept them awake some nights.

Gwyn sat up and stretched, then slouched once more. "Anyway, have any news? I'm awake now."

"No! I thought you were dead!"

Gwyn blew a kiss at Rhoswen, who glared darkly at her.

"Did you hear about someone being a blood mage?" Cissa asked absentmindedly, setting herself in the tub across from Gwyn.

It had been the constant talk for the past week. Everyone had heard, and quite a majority of the Tower's populace were scared by such a thing. They knew the dangers of blood magic, and the outcomes that would come from dabbling in such a thing. Every hour some poor sod was the butt of a joke to lift the tension on the rumour, but the Templars were further on the edge from the rumours, and did not take such a thing lightly.

Several people had ended up in isolation, apparently. At least, that was the rumour.

"I did, from Helena, actually. Do they know _who_? Or, are we all going to be left guessing until the last minute where demons begin a rampage and everyone dies?" Gwyn said offhandedly, like it was a relatively normal thing and that was that.

People outside the Tower believed it was so. Why couldn't it be so one day? She was just saying, after all.

"Don't say stuff like that, Gwyn. You'll jinx us, and then _I_ will personally _haunt_ you."

"Jinxing is _made_ _up_, Hannah. You can't jinx someone just by saying something. It's a ridiculous notion. Perish the thought." Gwyn waved her hand, in an attempt to _perish the thought_.

Rhoswen rolled her eyes, but closed her book. "Nathan mentioned that it was an apprentice who they think is the blood mage. Which makes _everything_ doubly dangerous because the idiot isn't _Harrowed_."

"Nathan thinks that _every_ apprentice is a blood mage until they go through their Harrowing, or become Tranquil. He's paranoid that way."

"I agree with Laura, actually. Nathan is a bit … _odd_, for lack of a better word." Gwyn shrugged.

"Gerda is going to become Tranquil, actually. Just putting that out there while we discuss Harrowings and Tranquility."

Gwyn shot forward, absolute disbelief written on her face. "Wait, what? Are you joking?"

Cissa shook her head. "No, she was talking about it with Elise, and Gerda's mentor even mentioned that it might be a better option. I always thought Gerda was pretty good, actually. They said she had a gift for Creation. I wonder what went wrong," she continued, her voice dropping as she began rambling.

Whilst paying attention to the end of Cissa's rambling, and agreeing wholeheartedly, Gwyn was still stuck on the first part. "That's _horrible_!"

"Better than _dying_, don't you think?" Laura challenged.

"Yes, but your _humanity_ is gone once emotions are _killed off_. No, it's wrong. I don't know. I know I just don't agree with it!"

"Mind retained means one's humanity stays," Rhoswen muttered, rather ominous.

Gwyn sank back, head lolling to the side to look at Rhoswen. "True. But I'd rather go through the Harrowing than become Tranquil _any day_."

"You will jinx yourself for saying that. In the middle of the night, you will have your Harrowing. I bet you."

Hannah waved her hands in front of her, pulling a face as well. She looked rather witchy, and Cissa commented on such.

"Twenty bits says your wrong."

The comment went unnoticed.

"Done."

"Done."

Hannah and Gwyn shared a look as Laura rolled her eyes. They would have shook hands if they were within reach.

"_Why_ do you bet with her, Hannah? Gwyn wins because she _cheats_. _Everyone_ knows this."

"I don't cheat. I play to win. Cheating is below me." Gwyn sniffed, imitating someone of higher stature.

Cissa laughed, and together they mocked the noble brats that pranced through the halls on the odd occasion. Every so often, a noble would have an affair - or not - and some _magical child _would be produced because someone _failed_ to mention that magic ran through their blood. So the brats ended up in the Tower. Some were not so bad, but there were those who had to learn the hard way that they were now the scum of Thedas and all that land daddy promised them was never going to be theirs.

It was a hard lesson, but _everyone_ had to learn it eventually. Doubly hard as an elf, Rhoswen would comment whenever it was brought up. Elves were below the scum outside of the Tower.

Hannah, on the other hand, was trying to make a valid argument to Laura.

"She _can't_ cheat on this one, Laura. You go through your Harrowing, or you die. Just ask Rhoswen. They make it very clear."

"The whole lecture you get from Greagoir is dreadfully dull. I don't advise listening to him. Just ask the Revered Mother to repeat it. Much more entertaining."

Gwyn laughed, before sighing. "Bother, my water is getting cold. I believe that means that it is bed time."

"You _lazy_ bastard! Don't you have lessons to attend?"

"Ah, probably, actually. Cissa, I normally have this lesson with you, right? What do we have?"

Cissa took on a faraway look, recalling her timetable that she had learned by heart upon receiving it. "History with Sweeney. Oh, Maker save us all, let the Orlesians invade, anything!"

"I don't understand _why_ he is still teaching. Is he still taking apprentices? Maker, I'd hate to have him."

"You _did_ have him, but he never turned up."

"Because the geezer is half-blind and couldn't figure out where the library is."

"You gave him the wrong directions."

"Rhoswen, darling, if he knew _anything_, he should have figured that out himself. Come, Cissa, Hannah, Sweeney awaits us with reliving wars he may have participated in."

"He isn't _that_ old, Gwynaeth."

"Yes he is. I said so."

"Stop acting like a child."

"Stop acting like my mother."

"I will when you stop acting like a child."

"Well, we have until the end of our lives to end this argument. Trust me, I'm not leaving anytime soon, and neither are you."

Gwyn removed herself from the bath with quite a bit of effort, muscles at complete ease after such a long time in the water, and draped a towel around herself once out. There was a constant chill in the Tower, ominous and just cold. With a shudder, she spoke, hand in its normal position: fist on hip.

"Come on. I have to count my money. Who knows, I may have jinxed myself."

Hannah poked her tongue out, but followed, Cissa bringing up the rear. Squabbling began within seconds. Something along the lines of jinxes, hexes and 'touch wood'.

Rhoswen sighed, and looked over at Laura. Laura held her hands up in defence, eyebrows raised in innocence.

"Hey, she's _your_ friend. How you two manage to remain so is beyond me."

"I can't seem to get rid of her, she's like the plague."

Laura laughed. "Well, the way she's going, she's _going _soon."

Laura leaned her head back, and promptly began snoring. Rhoswen sat for a little longer, mulling over Laura's words, and the general vibe that surrounded the conversation. Everything sounded like something out of a bad tale. Here they were, laughing about how silly it was to think such things, but such things were bound to happen. Everything she had ever read had directed her to such things.

She couldn't help the cold feeling that sat like lead in her belly, and trailed behind the trio, who had - finally - dressed and were on their way to their lesson. She came in at a rather odd time.

"There's a war?"

"Yes, Hannah, there's a war brewing. Or has been for a while now. Didn't you hear Sweeney _babbling _about darkspawn the other day?"

"I'm sorry; I believe that I was sleeping during his babbling."

"You'd sleep through your own lovemaking, Hannah, it's just a given."

"Yep … wait, hey! Gwynaeth!"

Rhoswen rolled her eyes, and walked off. Her friend wasn't leaving anytime soon.

She may not know much about anything else besides what she was taught and what she read, but she did know that Gwynaeth Amell, long time friend, constant nuisance and romantic at heart, was not leaving.

Besides, no one would let her in fear of letting her learn life lessons. Imagine such a thing!

_The horror!_

* * *

**Later that night**

"Amell."

"Ugh, what? Templars …? _Ew_, what are you doing here?"

Sigh.

"Come on, get dressed."

"Why?"

"Your Harrowing is about to begin."

_Pause_.

"Oh, _bollocks_, I owe Hannah twenty bits."

"I have _no idea_ what that means, but move it."

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**_EDITED: 21/10/2011_**


	2. Chapter ii

**The beginning is a little bit jumbly, I think. But from there it gets a bit neater. At least, I think so.**

**Regardless, read, enjoy (or not), and review. Feedback of any kind is appreciated. Thank you.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Dragon Age, I would have to do all my own voice-overs. That would be _lame_.  
**

* * *

She tugged the cloak around her tighter still. The chill in the Tower she could handle, but out in the open, it never seemed to end. There just seemed to be a permanent frost, that no amount of warmth quelled. It was more irritating than affecting her, as it may have been the first thing her magic didn't get rid of.

And she had once wanted to leave like no tomorrow. Now, she would give anything to be returned to her gilded cage. She regretted every decision ever made in her final hours that led to her leaving. Had she known, she would never have done those things. She would have repented like a mad woman if she could have rewritten history then and there.

Gwyn should have never helped Jowan. Should never have told Irving either. She just ... she should have just stayed in bed, and hexed the boy until he left her alone. Why did he choose to find her after her Harrowing? What higher power said 'go find Gwynaeth, she'll help you'? The Maker had a thing for picking on her, it seemed. When that had started, she didn't know.

And then she _lied_, to Irving of all people. Of all the things she could do, she lied to the one person who said 'yes' to her and her demands. Guilt wrapped around her gut like a noose. After putting up with her for so long, she lied about her staff to him. She liked powerful artifacts more than people knew, and had been telling herself for several hours that it was a trophy - for doing something incredibly _wrong_, her conscience would remind her. The moment she returned to the Tower, she was going to beg for forgiveness, even if Irving had no idea what for.

What felt worse though was she didn't even see Rhoswen on her way out. When she was clearing out only the most practical things from her trunk, Rhoswen's presence had yet to be felt. She had left a note, full of apologies and promises, but still, the feeling hadn't gone.

Gwyn pounded her fist against her temple, muttering away. She had had a terrible day, that day. Harrowing in the middle of the night, waking to Jowan, Greagoir's rather pointed look that she shouldn't be walking and talking, Rhoswen's mysterious absence and the sickly look of longing Cullen had shot her.

Duncan turned around, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. Irving had spoke highly of the mage, and put quite a bit of emphasis on her _enthusiasm_. Greagoir had gone so far as to mention that she was_ Irving's little spitfire_. So far, she hadn't smiled, and made little effort to converse. He had to admit that she was gifted with her magic, but with the lack of social graces ... he wasn't so sure. She did seem prone to talking to herself, however, as it wasn't the first time she had started muttering under her breath.

She had kept her mouth clamped shut, eyes wide open and the cloak wrapped tight around her the entire time they were travelling. She hadn't used the staff strapped to her back, either, instead opting to just point a finger and let hell loose, on the one occasion that they were attacked. She received a look of appraisal for using her magic from Duncan, but her eyes had hit the ground once the fight was over. He wasn't entirely sure how to tempt several words out of her.

She growled and kicked a stone away, giving him an opening for conversation. Thank the Maker.

"Is something the matter?"

She jumped like she had been shocked, and then smiled sheepishly. Finally. "I ... no, it's fine, everything is just fine."

He heard the lie as clear as day, but didn't press it. He knew better than to meddle in private affairs. So, he decided to press a very important issue.

"We are nearly at Ostagar. As you are aware, the King's army shall be present. The Circle of Magi is there as well. You are not allowed to enter the encampment, as you are no longer one of them."

"I know, I know."

Oh, she knew alright. She would be viewed as a Circle Mage, just wouldn't technically be one of them. If anything, a mage for hire. She had heard it was possible, but those who happened to go out for hire never seemed to return ...

Duncan sighed, but stopped short when a small group of soldiers greeted them. Gwyn pushed her hood down, putting as much effort in her smile as well as the way she held herself.

The King stepped forward, armour golden and glittering. When the first news of darkspawn hordes reached the Tower, the apprentices went mad with gossip over the King. Gwyn had assumed they had all been saving it up, but she had heard many a tales about him. Some quite unbelievable, as how would one know if they had never set foot outside of the Tower? And besides, as far as they knew, the King was merely a figurehead trying to fill his father's large shoes. Uldred had been saying that on more occassions than necessary up until he was sent to the army. And even then several Senior Enchanters whispered such things when they thought no one was listening.

Duncan and the King shared formalities, if a little informal when she really thought about it. Up until the King addressed her, she was fine. She then became a nervous wreck.

_Maker, let me be struck down by lightning._

She remembered Duncan's warnings, and Irving's lessons in respectable behaviour. She bowed low, not short enough or deep enough to offend. Nor did she bow for a long enough time and didn't stand up too soon to be rude either. Magic wasn't the only thing Irving taught. She was taught how to be a lady, which took more effort than throwing a shield, in her books.

When the King had departed, Duncan seemed to relax. Only a little, but she saw the tension leave his shoulders.

"He didn't seem to take the darkspawn seriously," she thought aloud.

He seemed surprised by her observation, but readily agreed with her.

So, she could speak. Maybe Irving's mage would show her true colours soon.

They walked a short way to the foot of a vast bridge, and Gwyn looked over the edge, letting apprehension radiate outwards.

"We aren't planning on jumping from here anytime soon, are we? I didn't let myself get conscripted just so we would start some kind of mad mission, now."

"You let yourself _get conscripted_ did you?" Duncan said with mild amusement, watching her step back and looking a little green.

He would have thought living in a Tower would give some people a certainty with heights. He was wrong.

"That's not what I meant."

She was grumbling now, sending the odd wary look out over the gorge.

If anything, Duncan was amused by her antics. Irving was right. It would be an interesting sight, working with the young woman.

"I need you to seek out Alistair, another Warden, and your fellow recruits."

Her eyes narrowed, a stormy blue. Her silence reminded him of the calm before the storm, and he was hoping it would hold off enough until she entered the Wilds. Looking to object at such tasks, she clamped her mouth shut. And sulked. What a drastic change indeed.

"Very well."

"The quicker you do this, the quicker we will be able to bolster our ranks. You understand, surely?"

"I understand."

With a small smile, Duncan walked off, not before calling over his shoulder that she was allowed to explore the ruins if it was of interest to her.

Gwyn gave an exasperated sigh, arms thrown in the air. He may be her leader, but clear orders were what he was supposed to give. Not 'go find so-and-so as soon as possible, but wander around if it pleases you'.

Once this little trip was over, she vowed that she would never join an army again. Or lead her own, if she could cover her tracks enough to mask her magic. The latter became quiet appealing as she wandered the ruins.

She imagined men and women of all races in glittering silver armour as they charged their enemy, the archers high above, light leathers allowing them to deliver swift death. And the mages in the rear, relied on for thinning the ranks a bit. There, everyone would get a slice of glory, and who knows, maybe tokens for effort.

Such as it was in many books of hers, all with heroes great and strong. If it was written down more than once, it could happen in real life, she believed. No one in the Tower had responded to her musings, only sending the odd curious glance when they realised she wasn't reading a tome but a common novel.

Stopping in front of a statue, her thoughts were cut short. Frowning, she placed a hand on her hip and studied the thing. It was clearly the tallest and most revered, judging from the marble of which it was made. Upon closer inspection, there were veins of gold running through the rock. And it was untouched unlike its brothers and sisters. No sign of attack had been laid to it.

She placed a hand against the calf of it, pressing her magic outward to see if that was what was keeping it sturdy despite the years it had been standing. No response returned to her fingers, and she huffed.

"It is a thing of beauty, isn't it?"

She turned to the voice, eyebrows raised high in question.

The soldier blushed when he noticed her stare, and opted to keep his eyes on the statue. "Pardon my intrusion, my lady."

"You were merely voicing an opinion. I would hardly call that an intrusion."

"You are too kind," he paused, as if wondering how to address the statue. "I meant that it is hard to believe that such evil men were able to create these."

"Or they are of Dwarven make," she commented, which was a possibility due to the lack of magic and such elegance of it. Although, the more she thought about it, the more it was unlikely, as she had seen many a paintings of Dwarven statues and structures.

"There is that as well."

She laughed lightly as he frowned. He made a great motion towards it, arms wide open as if he was expecting it to return the action.

"In books, they say that spirits of those who defied Archons would be trapped in the stone."

_That's why it looked so familiar_, Gwyn thought. "I've met one before, in fact. Lovely lady, offered some rather dubious advice though. I don't advise talking to one unless you are in great strife."

The soldier stared at her, not quite believing her words. After all, everything short of Tevinter ruins had been destroyed. Statues were not excluded from that list, he had read. How someone had stumbled across one was a dubious thing indeed. Unless ...

"Although, she certainly wasn't as grand as this one here." Gwyn waved her hand upwards, turning to the soldier.

She noted his incredulous stare, and sighed. "Gwynaeth. Mage of the Cirlce."

Grey Wardens left their names behind, titles and whatnot. Basically, their entire lives were left behind as they went to slay the darkspawn. Force of habit made her say the last part. It had been drilled into their minds that on the off chance they were allowed leave, they had to introduce themselves as such. It was a formality that non-mages had yet to receive, judging from the look on the soldier's face.

The soldier shook her outstretched hand. "Oliver." The name was mumbled but she caught it, and the stare he gave her hand. Did he really think she was going to kill him? He probably did.

"Oliver, care to show me around?"

His hesitance became instantly apparent at her request. He had been making an observation on the _Imperium_, and had no idea he would express such thoughts to a _mage_. She could see the small amount of horror in his eyes.

"Never mind," she nearly spat out, and walked off, shoulders tensed.

Oliver's heavy stare sat between her shoulder blades, making the spot itch. Any normal day, she would have batted her eyes, given a bit of harmless teasing and wandered off. But she wasn't inside the safety of the Tower anymore. Now she was out in Ferelden, and regardless of her vastness, countryside held little attention. Unless there was something interesting to see short of Ostagar and collections of houses along the Imperial Highway, she wasn't impressed._ No offense to her homeland or anything_, she added as an after thought.

That was probably the first time she considered herself Ferelden-born. Huh. Things had changed in the past few days. Amazing what fresh air did to someone.

His footsteps - heavy most likely due to his armour - resounded in the gorge, and she looked over her shoulder, a little shocked that he was jogging to catch up with her.

"If my lady would like, I could escort her around the camp?" he ended it as a question. An offer.

Gwyn smiled lightly, and motioned ahead of her. "I would be ever so thankful, my lord."

"Just call me Oliver."

"Then call me Gwyn, Oliver."

They shared a smile, and continued the trek over the bridge.

_Maybe this whole Grey Warden business wasn't going to be so bad after all_.

* * *

**_EDITED: 21/10/2011_**


	3. Chapter iii

**Still going :) She has changed a bit. I think freedom has gone to her head. It would go to my head too, actually, as I think about it.  
**

**Regardless, read, enjoy (or not), and review. Feedback of any kind is appreciated. Thank you.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Dragon Age, I would have to do all my own voice-overs. That would be _lame_.  
**

* * *

She had enjoyed the soldier's company, as he walked her around the camp. It was vast, with plenty of activity. She would have liked him to stay a little longer, but his duties called him away, as well as his friends.

She had heard their comments, and allowed a small smirk to settle on her lips. For the past two hours or so, she had allowed herself to think that this life wouldn't be so bad. There was obviously more to see, more to do, and Gwyn thought her fortunes had changed for the better. It certainly looked that way, darkspawn or no. Why hadn't she ever considered the Grey Wardens before? The answer fled her. Regardless, life seemed that much nicer out in Ferelden.

Up until she wandered past the Mages' Camp, and spotted one woman who didn't loathe her, but didn't give her time of day either.

Rhoswen's previous mentor stood rather regal-looking, book clasped in one hand, robes prim and proper, and a small smile on her face. Gwyn contemplated sneaking past her, but considering the woman had once vouched for her and her _innocence_, she thought it best to greet her. Politeness also dictated such a thing.

The woman looked up, a white eyebrow arching in mild surprise. Just like all the other mages and Templars she had bumped into.

"I had heard a mage was to be a Grey Warden, but I never anticipated _you _to join their ranks."

Wasn't that the honest-to-Maker truth.

"Neither did I, Senior Enchanter Wynne. Trust me, it is more a shock for me as it is for the rest of the Tower."

A small smile lifted the corners of Wynne's mouth and she snapped her book shut. She felt the woman eyeing her closely, and Gwyn pulled the cloak around her. She always seemed to be looking through her, as if she wanted an answer to a question Gwyn didn't know.

Wynne was, to her knowledge, one of the greatest Creation students the Circle had pumped out in years. People had been asking her for just as long a time to take over Irving's position in the Tower, but as far as Rhoswen had told her, she had said no each and every time. Rhoswen had also mentioned that Wynne valued her freedom as much as anyone else, and until the time came when she was confined to a chair, she would never accept.

And, considering the mastery of Creation, that wouldn't be for a very, _very_ long time.

"I'm sure you have better things to do than to talk to me."

She did, and she was sure Wynne knew that too, but they both ignored it.

"Why are the mages in the Fade?"

Gwyn nodded to those who stood with eyes and mouths wide open, almost in horror. If what the Templar had said, maybe the darkspawn were scaring the life out of them. She was slightly grateful she wasn't in the Fade right now. The Harrowing had scared her, giving her trust a shake for the worst. She had seen through the Pride Demon's plan, but she had entrusted her spirit to him up until he revealed himself. Then, it had taken all her willpower not to slice the head off the bloody thing. That would have ended her as well, when she had thought about it later. Considering an attack against Pride Demon was not the smartest thought to cross her mind.

"You are not privy to such information, young lady."

Gwyn sighed and sent a scathing look towards Wynne. "I know, but I would _like_ to know."

Wynne tapped her on the head with the book. "No. Is there anything else you need?"

The younger mage sighed again, putting more emphasis into the sound than last time. She would find out later. "Do you know where a Warden named Alistair is?"

Wynne gave her directions that were more detailed and helpful than any other soldier in the camp. Bowing quickly, Gwyn left, not before looking over her shoulder.

"Rhoswen says hello."

Wynne smiled and nodded. Technically, Rhoswen hadn't said a word about her mentor, not for a _long_ time, but the woman didn't need to know that. It was the thought that counted, right? She was building good karma at the moment, in case the Maker wanted to throw a tree at her or something.

She walked up the ramps, running her hands over the stone that, regardless of the chips and slashes, remained as smooth as the marble it was. She pushed a little magic outward, to test if such a thing kept it in this manner, but found nothing responsive. Same as the statue on the bridge, it just managed to last.

Arguing greeted her ears, and she turned, holding the cloak close. Moving towards the voices, she prayed that the man in the robe was not Alistair.

When the mage had turned around, she knew it wasn't. She knew him, the mage. He was one of the many tutors who could not stand her. She had set his robe on fire once, which probably contributed to him not liking her, but that didn't faze her. It had been an absolute accident, he had yelled, and the second bout of flames had been intentional. They had both known this, and it was never spoken of ever again. Made for a great drinking story, however.

The mage stormed off, throwing curses around like gifts on Feastday. She would have thought he would have grown up, being so old, but he was still the grumpy bastard who thought he could scare her into submission. How wrong he was.

"One good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together."

Looking up at a soldier opposite her, Gwyn allowed a smile to settle on her features.

_Wow_.

"I know exactly what you mean."

No truer words were ever spoken. Almost all races were here, although it seemed the Grey Wardens had the biggest variety. Not that people seemed to mind. Grey Wardens were a revered bunch when Blights started to loom. Any other time, not really. History books had made that deathly clear.

Who would have guessed that attempting to overthrow kings had that effect? Anyone?

They shared a small smile, and Gwyn felt like an awkward teenager all over again. She thought she had grown out of that habit - the shyness and looking down at the ground. She was utterly wrong.

"And you must be Alistair." She started, and didn't quite know how to finish.

He grinned, a little cautious, but asked of her name in return.

"Gwynaeth Amell, Gwyn to my friends."

"Am I counted in that group?" It was a rather cheeky response, and she had to admit that she liked that.

The corners of her mouth jumped into a smile. "I'll think about that one, and get back to you on it."

He grinned, but noted her robes. She watched a certain amount of dread fill his face, and spoke out.

"Problem?"

If he was going to have a problem with her being a mage, she was walking away. She would make her own way back to the Tower. She had had enough hesitation to last a lifetime.

"I just want to know my chances of being turned into a toad any time soon."

Gwyn laughed, not expecting that. "Be thankful my magic isn't that advanced, then. Although, there are plenty of others who would have that _privilege_ first, trust me."

"That's a _little_ reassuring, I guess."

She patted his cheek. "You're too cute to be made a toad, and if anything, a puppy. Now, let us go and find the other recruits."

She walked off, not waiting for him. Maybe that was a little _too_ upfront. Ah well, she would sulk about it later. She had things to do, and had wasted enough time as it was.

"I'm not a recruit, though." She heard his armour clang as he jogged to catch up.

"I know, but I am."

On their walk to find companions, they shared a rather joyous banter on why women were scarce in the Grey Wardens. Gwyn lost, but didn't admit defeat. She swore she would find some evidence that females were the better fighters. Alistair had stared at her with a great deal of incredulousness. Even more of a reason to show him who was better.

They met Daveth lingering by the Quartermaster, trying ever so horribly to seduce a female soldier. But Gwyn noted the swing in the woman's hips as she _stormed_ off. She would be back.

And probably had been before, as Gwyn thought about it. Well, she wasn't bringing that into light anytime soon, anyway. That little slice of information would stay with her.

"I'll watch your back if you watch mine."

"Oh, I'll be watching," Daveth had laughed, offering an appreciative gaze.

"Just don't get lost back there."

She had felt another stare from behind her, and gave Alistair an inquisitive glance, but said nothing at all. He had blushed and looked anywhere but her. _Oh_.

Daveth had saluted her and wandered off, and she wondered how such a man had not been slaughtered by the entire population as of yet. His _ego_ would have been enough to kill the darkspawn, the way he sauntered. She admired the roll of his hips, but that was all she could admire about the greasy bastard. She thanked the Maker she was not born normal. She probably would have had more encounters with men like him.

Repeating her thoughts aloud to Alistair, minus the admiration and thanks, he laughed, only to mention that it would be best to find Ser Jory before he found them.

"You met him before?"

"I've met people _like _him."

"I don't know what that means."

A grim yet amused smile rested on Alistair's face. "You'll see."

They found him by the makeshift 'Chantry', head bowed in prayer. Alistair and Gwyn shared a look, thoughts on the same line.

"Oh." _Fantastic._

"Told you." _You should have listened._

"I'm surprised you aren't up there with him, you know, saying your _prayers_ before the big fight." She put her hands together in mock-prayer, one eye closed, the other watching him. She would have looked serene if there wasn't a rather large smirk on her lips.

"You were raised _surrounded_ by Templars. If anything, _you_ should be beside him."

"I wasn't raised in the _actual _Chantry. I could _choose_."

"True." _I give._

"Thank you." _Oh, you will._

Jory annoyed her, and she desperately wanted to send a spark, just a little spark, after him as he departed. Because, not only did her magic make him back away, every second sentence seemed to revolve around his wife and child. Or something of the sort. She lost interest when he had gone wide-eyed. She kind of wanted him kicked out. Wasn't the whole idea of being a Grey Warden not to care who your comrades were and to just kill the darkspawn? She was sure that was what people had been telling her when the topic was brought up.

He had obviously missed out on that piece of information.

Gwyn spied a man sitting in a cage, with a guard who looked like he was just about to leave.

"What did he do?" she whispered to Alistair, motioning to the man.

Alistair shrugged, obviously not too concerned by things in the army. And yet, he was blatantly just as curious as she.

"You know, for someone who is supposed to be helping or whatever with this Grey Warden business, you actually have no idea about what's going on in the camp."

She had struck a nerve, she could see it on his face.

He huffed and pointed out two soldiers who were looking anywhere but each other. "They were married here a week ago. His friends thought it would be funny to dump the newlyweds in the closest stream after they, uh, _consummated_ their marriage. I think she nearly took off his arm when they were sparring."

She noted the hesitation about speaking about the _ins and outs of marriage_, but paid no heed. Instead, she laughed.

"Truly? Well, maybe this will be more fun than the Tower." She clapped her hands together, emphasising her point.

"Fun? You think this will be _fun_? You know, dying and all? Impending _doom_? No?"

He was already doubting her ability to make things fun. Well, she would show him, wouldn't she?

"Change of atmosphere, you know. Anyway, I want to know why he's in that cage, so stay behind and say your _prayers_ if you want."

She walked off, and asked the man. And why she should offer her services. She could do that sort of thing now, because people actually had possessions here, and she was more than glad to take them as rewards.

No, _gifts_ for getting the job done.

_Look, another bright side to being outside the Tower_. Oh, her fortunes were definitely changing for the better. Whatever hesitation she had at the beginning, it was lost to her. A certain freedom had presented itself, and she was going to take full control of it. And then some. Nothing would stand in her way now. She was ecstatic at that.

Alistair had eventually followed, looking utterly lost. She watched the somewhat disapproving look cross his face as she asked for something in return, and then pressing the point. His disappointment left him when she relayed what the prize was, and what she was going to do. If anything, he seemed entirely humoured and pleased.

The man offered her a key to the mage's chest, one that had recently come back into his possession.

Disgusted, but intrigued by what the chest held (only because a Tranquil was _guarding_ the damn thing), she agreed.

The guard was surprisingly easy to persuade in letting her give the food to the prisoner. She inwardly admitted that it was just as easy as lying about her staff. If not more. Did she just appear trustworthy, that everyone thought they should give in to her?

With the key in hand (well, actually in a handkerchief _and then_ in a pouch), she walked on, doing all sorts of _dastardly_ things whilst Alistair looked on, unable to speak up. He could have, if he wanted to, but he didn't. He spent quite a bit of time contemplating that, and watching her in horror.

He didn't know how to tell the woman to stop _lying_ about swords that _obviously_ did not belong to her, and how she really should leave the Ash Warriors alone, no matter how interesting their history is and that she should not try to go into the Mages' Camp - she was a Warden now. Surely she should have known the last part well enough.

_And then _she walked up to the King's tent and talked to the guard about his Majesty. Just like that. She was crazy. The guard was crazier for talking back to her.

Straight after that endeavour, she walked across to the Teryn's tent, managing to convince the guard to give them an audience. Alistair stood, hands behind back, eyes on the ground when the Teryn emerged.

He wondered if the Teryn knew about his origins. He considered asking, but didn't. Best no one knew.

Gwyn had crossed her arms over her chest, and tilted her head to the side at the sight of the Teryn. Old age hadn't hit him terribly hard, but she could see that he was looking a little old for this. It was around the eyes, too tense and worrisome, like he expected the worst. Teryn Loghain Mac Tir had been playing the field far too long in her opinion. He was a great general, commander, and whatever else he was, no one could doubt that. People knew he was the brains behind King Maric's Rebellion.

But, King Maric wasn't around any longer, and it was Cailan's time to shine.

She kept that all to herself.

He had commented on Irving's letters and how highly he spoke of her. Gwyn rolled her eyes at that. Irving had doted on her more than once. This was not uncommon news. But he was still going on about her? What about that mage, Andrew or something? He was the youngest mage to go through the Harrowing and _survive_. That was a feat not to be taken lightly. She had passed the mage on occasion, and she had to admit, he stunk of power - and a certain freewill that she severly lacked.

And then Loghain surprised her with a: "You're pretty for a Grey Warden. Don't let anyone tell you that you don't belong".

She reconsidered her thoughts about him. He was surprisingly nice. And, her ego loved to get stroked every so often.

With a respectable bow, they left, and Alistair let a breath of relief leave him.

Until she made yet another detour. Up the ramps to where several soldiers were training, she veered off to the left. He followed, jogging to catch up with her strides. He would have thought the robes made it difficult for such long strides. Obviously not.

She stood right at the edge, where there was no railing. Alistair panicked, thinking she was going to throw herself off.

Instead, she threw her arms open, all fear of heights lost.

"Isn't this amazing!"

He wondered if she had taken a beating to the head.

She wondered what his problem was.

* * *

**So, I made some references in this. One to _Canticles of Love _by Ser Hermia. There is an ever so lovely one-shot between Daveth and "Female Soldier 9".**

**Another towards Anders. Because, I couldn't help myself. I love that guy.  
**

**And what Loghain says. For some reason, I got both responses. I claim glitch, because the whole "You're pretty" is for City Elf. Regardless, I put that in for reasons later.**

**_EDITED: 25/10/2011_  
**


	4. Chapter iv

**I don't know. Yeah, but no, on this one. I skipped the Wilds, because I rewrote it several times and didn't like it.  
**

**Regardless, read, enjoy (or not), and review. Feedback of any kind is appreciated. Thank you.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Dragon Age, I would have to do all my own voice-overs. That would be _lame_.**

* * *

She woke, pain ripping down her arms. It felt almost as if she had torn the nails of her fingers from their beds in her struggle to get rid of the shadows.

Bringing her hands to her face, she noticed that they were in fact bleeding a little, torn down the sides. Between her fingers, she saw two concerned faces staring down.

Was mutilating hands uncommon? In the Circle, it wasn't exactly uncommon. A number of mages had woken from the Fade, with plenty of self-inflicted scratches in an attempt to rid themselves of demonic presences. She would know. Her episodes in the Fade were particularly unpleasant ones.

Duncan pulled her into a sitting position, and she held back her lunch. She should have drunk the blood on an empty stomach. It was like her Harrowing all over again. Except this time she was woken before the pain had completely passed. And it wasn't demons whispering to her this time. Something worse than demons wanted her. She could feel it in her blood - a need, a need to do _something_, to appease _someone_.

Alistair began babbling, and Gwyn winced. Every one of her senses were on fire. She could smell the stone that much clearer, brought to the forefront of her mind. She could hear the other side of the camp, and not just the dogs howling as they sensed a new danger. And, clamping her eyes shut, her vision was clearer, and _faster_. Images were burned into her eyelids.

It was just like the first time she had lyrium. Everything in her body went into a hyper mode, causing a continuous ache behind her eyes.

She opened her eyes once more, and grimaced.

Gwyn rolled over, and emptied her belly, nausea completely taking her over from how much the world spun. At least Daveth and Ser Jory's bodies were taken from the old Temple, even if the stench of blood was still lingering in her senses. There wouldn't have been anything left in her if she had woken up next to a corpse.

Alistair back peddled, stepping a few feet away from her. He didn't think it was healthy for her to be sick nearly three times in several hours, but he wasn't going to say anything. He was certain a mage wouldn't appreciate his opinion in this instance.

Duncan was more sympathetic, yet brought the mage to her feet, holding her still.

"How do you feel?"

A number of answers ran through Gwyn's head, becoming more and more sarcastic with each moment. Instead, with her mouth closed just a little to prevent her breath from spilling out, she answered.

"That was almost as painful as my Harrowing."

"Only almost?" Alistair piped up. He had heard about the Harrowing, in his training. He had been to one, but had never had the pleasure of the experience.

Gwyn smiled, but kept her mouth shut. She made vows to keep her silence. And for all her bravado and openness, she took her duty seriously. This was one of the times she would still her tongue.

Alistair saw he wasn't going to pull an answer out of the mage, and sighed. Duncan began speaking, about how the King had requested himself and Gwyn personally.

Gwyn found not a trace of jealousy in Alistair's face. If anything, he looked entirely relieved. Ecstatic, even. She was dumbfounded. Surely he would have been a little peeved, but he all but ran off, like he had a newfound freedom. Perhaps he did. She wouldn't know. She would look into it later.

When Duncan released her from his grip, she let out a breath she hadn't realised she had been holding. Her body was on fire, but not in an entirely bad sense. There was some kind of strength sitting in her wiry arms now, that had never been there before.

She rolled her head to the side, letting it crack out the tension. Oh, yes, she could feel a lot more than relief flood through her. She flexed her fingers.

_Huh_, she thought,_ after the initial pain, this isn't too terrible_.

So, she followed Duncan to the meeting, still wobbly from the blood, and could see the shadows creeping and growing, only before retreating as she passed. She pressed a hand to her forehead and focused on one shadow that creeped closer to her ankle than she liked. This was definitely worse than her Harrowing, even if both promised some sort of unnamed power. And she had more time to prepare this time around. That didn't promise much.

Throughout the meeting, she remained quiet for the most part, silently agreeing that they should wait for reinforcements, even _Orlesians_.

The Circle was generally neutral in politics, not entirely giving support to the reigning King, but not entirely turning their back either. They saw a strategy they liked, and they would support it. This was what Irving taught her when she was under his tutelage. She may not agree, but now she definitely saw that strength was in numbers. The darkspawn were taken lightly in the camp, and after facing stragglers in the Wilds, she knew what had to be done.

Duncan looked like he had an opinion, but his mouth remained shut. She was disappointed in him. Weren't Grey Wardens somewhat separate from politics, no? They did what they could to win. That was what Alistair told her. Right now, if Duncan had an opinion that would help them win, Gwyn would give it her support.

Loghain vehemently refused. No one could really blame him. He put an end to the Orlesian occupation - he had a right to turn down the _better_ alternative, of course. Her opinion of him changed drastically once more, even if the new plan was pretty well thought out as well.

King Cailan turned to her, smiling despite the looks he received. He was King Maric's failure son, but Gwyn saw the tactical genius. He just didn't show it well enough to the people, who were technically his greatest allies - and enemies.

Same went for Alistair, oddly enough. In the Wilds, he had eventually handed a map over to her, when they were almost waist-deep in a bog, of course. But he had shown tactics in combat, there was no denying it.

Gwyn pondered this, but presented her displeasure at being sent on an errand - and with Alistair, nonetheless! The Maker hated her. Alistair may have been good at open combat, but she had grown weary of his constant remarks. It was odd for her, but she had made her distaste obvious.

Her pleas went unheard, as if she were just some child to be seen and not heard, and the meeting ended. She followed Duncan to the fire, where Alistair was waiting, pacing rather nervously Gwyn noticed.

Duncan relayed the orders, and Gwyn was pleased to find that she wasn't the only one annoyed at the prospect of missing combat. And to be _babysat_ in a way by the Teryn's guard.

But, despite her dislike of Alistair, he managed to make her laugh. His comment of dancing the Remigold in a dress managed to pull a smile out of her, even if their hopes of battle died a truly horrible death.

"I think I'd like to see that."

He turned to her with a grin. "For you? Maybe, but it would have to be a _pretty _dress."

Gwyn just smiled, and Duncan sighed. He was somewhat glad they were getting along, but he wasn't so sure how long it would last. There was of course the whole Templar-Mage thing he was worried about, but that wasn't what Gwyn's animosity was about. In fact, she seemed a little relieved.

Irving had sent many a great letters once Duncan had made his wishes heard. Gwynaeth had held his interest, not only because of the way Irving had spoken about her, but what he had witheld from the letter, only saying when Duncan had arrived. Even Greagoir had thrown his two bits in on the mage's talents - not all positive, but enough to see that she would be suited for the task, eventually. Enough guidance, and she would be a valuable asset.

He considered introducing her to his friend in Orlais. The elven mage there would find Gwynaeth an _interesting_ person, no doubt.

Duncan left the pair after taking none of their arguements into consideration. Gwyn watched as the rest of the Wardens went past, and she suddenly felt quite cold and small compared to the twelve. She eyed Alistair's armour for the briefest moment. His seemed a little lacking in their area, slightly bigger around the shoulders, and tight around his legs.

"What?"

Alistair became rather self-conscious under her scrutiny, and shifted from foot to foot.

"Nothing. Just … don't get hurt."

Gwyn walked off, and Alistair jogged after her, quite confused. She didn't like him, but now she was telling him not to get hurt. Alistair shook his head and stood beside the mage at the foot of the bridge. Later, he would ask her later.

The blood was pounding in Gwyn's head. It wasn't her own that was there now. It was the darkspawn's as well. She could feel it, and could see dark patches from the corners of her eyes. It didn't make the whole idea of going to war in the same day as becoming a Grey Warden any easier, and she finally sent a prayer to the Maker.

From the edge of the bridge, she watched the charge. Just like the rest of their soldiers, she grimaced at the sight of the darkspawn. They may have been just dark specks in the horizon, but she could almost hear then, with their unusual chatter. It was unnerving, and plenty of men seemed ready to throw down their weapons and run.

When the dogs ran into the lines, she winced. She hoped the mabari that was waiting in the pens, being treated by the flower she had provided, survived. It was battered, and weakened by the blood, but truly an intelligent creature.

They crossed the bridge with some effort, constantly moving between soldiers, and on the odd occassion, were thrown off their feet. Gwyn nearly wept when the statue in the centre of the bridge was blown to pieces. She felt a presence leave the beautiful stone, and Alistair had to give her a good shove in the back to keep moving. She thanked him, but sent him a dirty look.

They made it across the bridge, and the moment two guards ran down the steps to greet them, Gwyn knew the Maker was not on their side that night.

And from the carnage that greeted them as they battled their way up the Tower of Ishal, only to greet an ogre - of all things - Gwyn truly wondered if He was even there in the first place.

* * *

**_EDITED: 25/10/2011_**


	5. Chapter v

**I love Morrigan. It's true. Too bad DA2 doesn't mention her_. _Apart from Flemeth, who turns into a dragon and flies away _straight after_. BAH!**

**This seems short. Le sigh. Lothering next, so it should be longer.  
**

**Regardless, read, enjoy (or not), and review. Feedback of any kind is appreciated. Thank you.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Dragon Age, I would have to do all my own voice-overs. That would be _lame_.**

* * *

Alistair stared after his fellow Warden with a certain amount of loath and intrigue. She had proven to be _different_, although he most definitely attributed that to living in a tower for most of her life. She didn't know how to act in polite society. He had definitely seen that when they were at Ostagar.

He winced at that. He hadn't moved on. There was no real way for him to. They were travelling away from there, as fast as humanly possible. It was surprisingly easy, as the trees of the Wilds seemed to part for them, most likely having something to do with the _witch_'s presence.

He glared at her back. Morrigan was talking to Gwynaeth about one thing or another, probably anything magical. Clearly, it was not his field of expertise, but he didn't train to be a Templar for nothing. Morrigan's freedom had been able to hold Gwyn's attention longer than his babbling had, and he could already see a friendship blossoming between the pair. The thought scared him.

"We should make camp here," the witch spoke up.

Morrigan cast a dark look over her shoulder. They were at the edge of the Wilds - _finally_ - with daylight disappearing behind the mountains. He had to agree, his muscles screaming told him they had to as well, but they could go further out …

Gwyn's look cut him off. "We go any further we will be open to attack. It would be safer in the shelter of the trees."

Alistair just agreed, as he was taught not to lead but follow. The women were definitely stronger in will, and looked rather capable of putting him in his place. He didn't want to invoke the wrath of mages, anyhow. Best he play the dumb Templar and they leave him alone. He was good at that.

And so, with little to no materials to shelter them from Ferelden's harsh weather, they huddled under makeshift blankets and all went morose.

Alistair dozed slightly, the fatigue catching up with him. In his dream, he was nowhere near the ruins of Ostagar, with cheese bountiful and him wearing his pants. Vaguely, he heard the rough sounds only a dog could make, and a rough shake to his shoulder brought him slightly above the surface.

"Maker be damned, Alistair, if you don't wake up, you will regret it!"

He recognised the voice and sighed happily. The words were repeated much harsher, Gwyn's normally smooth voice was oddly gritty, frustrated.

Looking up, he found himself uncomfortably close to the mage - uncomfortable for him, anyway. She scowled at him and went back to whatever she was doing. He found that she was scorching a few darkspawn like a mad woman.

_Darkspawn!_

He _didn't_ sense them. Unnerved, but fully functional, he picked up his sword and shield, knocking back a genlock who strayed too close. Another was on him as his comrade stumbled back, meeting a swift end at Alistair's sword. The first genlock reared its ugly head, only to have it blasted off by a bolt of something Alistair didn't recognise.

Alistair looked around at the array of magic being thrown at the offenders. He could see that strategically, they weren't going to work well together. Gwyn noticed this too, and threw her head back as a sword was swung in her direction. A snarl set itself on her lips, and she knocked the hurlock off its feet with a Stonefist placed under the belt. Alistair watched in a set amount of amazement, and shared a small smile with the mage.

The rather romantic moment ended when an almighty hulk of a body was thrown at him with a thud, throwing him and it back. Gwynaeth's glazed look turned sour when she noticed Alistair was now sitting. She seemed not to notice the mass of bulk on top of him.

"Andraste's tits, _Alistair_! Get up!"

He tried to move, but the body refused to move. In fact, it just huffed and looked him in the face. All he could see was two large, brown eyes, sharp teeth and a fair amount of Kaddis. The smell of the Kaddis, combined with the blood and dirt, made him panic a little.

"A mabari!"

He hadn't meant to _shriek_ that, and even the dog gave him a reprimanding look.

When Alistair regained his bearings, he looked around. Clearly, judging by the amount of corpses littering the ground, they had won. At least he had killed a genlock …

Gwyn went into a rampage, just a whirlwind of activity as she collected their things. Morrigan took the calmer option of just glaring at him. Alistair then noticed they were both bleeding a little terribly, and he forced a smile. He could play the dumb Templar well, after all.

The mabari huffed again and lifted himself off Alistair, walking over to Gwyn's side. At its presence, Gwyn calmed considerably, staring at the dog with a mixture of interest and relief.

"Honestly boy, if you hadn't warned us …"

Gwyn trailed off, scratching the hound behind its ears. It barked happily, clearly pleased with itself, and set about sniffing at the corpses, as if it was searching for some treasure. Alistair shook his head. That was ridiculous. Mabari's were smart, but not that _smart_, surely.

Morrigan had eased her eyes off of Alistair for the moment, muttering under her breath as she tended to her and Gwyn's wounds. Gwyn flinched at Morrigan's touch, but allowed her to weave a weak healing spell over the worst of her wounds. Alistair noticed this, and saw another downfall in anything that may have been slightly strategic. Both spellcasters liked to blow things up, not heal. _Fantastic_, he inwardly groaned.

"We are not far from Lothering. We should move."

Gwyn nodded, and with one final glare at Alistair, they moved. Alistair looked over his shoulder at the mabari. It had sat down next to one corpse in particular, tongue lolling from its mouth in that jolly way. _For a war hound, it looks pretty damn cheerful_, Alistair thought. It was a little disconcerting.

Gwyn patted at her thigh, and turned. The dog barked again, more insistent. More demanding. _Much like Gwyn_, Alistair mused.

"Warden."

Gwyn looked at Morrigan reproachfully. "We can't just leave him behind."

"Hurry up, then."

Gwyn hurried past Alistair, and crouched down in front of the mabari. Alistair stood on the balls of his feet to see over Gwyn's shoulder. He was met with a nasty glare, and looked away. Mages, always ruining his fun.

"Oh, you are a good boy, aren't you!" Gwyn suddenly exclaimed, laughing with absolute joy.

"What, what?"

Gwyn stood, holding a purse in the air. Alistair didn't recognise such a thing, but heard the distinct sound of coin hitting coin. He was not complaining.

"He's coming with us."

Morrigan scowled, muttering about one thing or another. Gwyn shot her a look, and marched on, the hound trailing behind her with much vigour.

Alistair stared after the pair with amazement and followed. Gwyn stopped not far down the path, looking down at the dog.

"You need a name."

The dog barked back happily.

Alistair held his breath. He anticipated something uncharacteristically _girly _from his fellow Warden. Well, it wouldn't surprise him that much, as he thought about it.

"Lusacan."

The dog barked back, jumping around its new owner.

Morrigan repeated the name. "_Lusacan_. Are you sure that is wise?"

"Why not? It is fitting. After all, it is _night_." Gwyn motioned to the sky.

Alistair had no idea, and just continued walking. It was a whole lot of waffling between mages, when he really thought about it, and he'd leave it to the mages. No point sticking his would-be Templar neck out any time soon.

At least, he reassured himself that was the case.


	6. Chapter vi

**Not exact dialogue from the game, as I haven't played in a few months now. So, don't mind that. And it seems a little messy.  
**

**Regardless, read, enjoy (or not), and review. Feedback of any kind is appreciated. Thank you.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Dragon Age, I would have to do all my own voice-overs. That would be _lame_.**

* * *

When Lothering came into view, Gwynaeth nearly fell over herself in exhaustion. It was not supposed to take exceptionally long, Morrigan had said, but the constant raids on their makeshift camps had strung tensions high, and sleep was just wishful thinking. She needed a warm bed and a cold ale. Lothering was sure to have a tavern with both.

Gwyn had the grudging thought that the trip out of the Wilds was only the beginning for sleep deprivation. Her ache for the Tower returned with effort. Her nice warm bed, the baths, the normal routine ... all gone because of Jowan and his bloody lover. Anger filled Gwyn and she gritted her teeth. She would kill him when she saw him next, or she would die trying.

Lusacan studied his new owner with interest, barking happily when she reached down to scratch behind his ears. He trotted ahead, head swinging back and forth as he took in the markings along the road. The smell in his nose was thick - sweet, and yet oddly metallic. A low whine settled in his throat as he recognised it, head lowered and haunches raised. Something was waiting for them, and it wasn't something pleasant.

Alistair noticed the marks too, speaking up. "These seem fresh."

Gwyn peered closely at one. Having seen darkspawn corruption and the memory fresh in her mind, she saw no relation between then and now. She pressed her palm against the damage, pressing magic outwards. Pulling her palm away, she grimaced at the red stain on her hands. The stain sunk into her skin as she stood, a certain amount of energy filling her, satisfying a hunger that was slowly growing. Morrigan eyed her curiously, and Gwyn turned away.

Lusacan growled then as men walked around debris, smiling like absolute gentlemen despite the raised weapons and battered look.

Leaning on her staff, Gwyn eyed the men. She was in no mood for playing nice mage. Her belly ached at the thought of blood on the walls, hunger welling. It made her feel sick, and her eyes burned.

She never should have looked at those books.

"Highwaymen. Preying on those fleeing from the darkspawn, no doubt."

"They are fools for getting in our way."

Gwyn agreed with both Alistair and Morrigan's quiet remarks, returning the smile to the appointed leader with ease. His smile grew that fraction wider as he saw the look Gwyn was giving him. Clearly, he had little experience with women.

"Greeting, travellers. We are collecting money for the upkeep of the highway." He hitched a thumb over his shoulder.

It was a terribly poor charade. Gwyn could have done better - she had once, in fact, raising money to help prevent the spread and increase the knowledge of bulbous growths induced by loose spores. The money was to pay off a debt. But, those who paid didn't need to know that. As it turned out, a few weeks later, spores were released, and Gwyn never really said if she was involved or not. At least she warned people before it happened.

"You are toll collectors, then? We are hardly your average travellers." Lusacan's growl just emphasised the point, some men flinching in response. Many Fereldens knew that mabaris were not to be messed with, and their owners even more. Several men stepped back.

A man at the back, nearing seven foot spoke up. His slow speech and thoughtfulness brought all eyes on him. "They're too armed for travellers. Maybe we should listen to them."

"Nonsense. Everyone has to pay."

"Naturally. Your henchman should receive a lashing for such a ridiculous notion."

The man seemed surprised that the group's leader agreed. Alistair and Morrigan too were surprised by the words. All eyes were trained on Gwyn.

"However, you should listen to your friend."

Gwyn swung her staff forward, the end of it sitting under the highwayman's chin. He swallowed. "Now, I really don't mean to be rude, but I am a very tired, very sore _mage_. Hand over all the gold you have collected."

The highwayman nodded, and Gwyn poked his throat with the end. "Don't move."

She reached into his pouches circling his waist, drawing purses and jewels from the faded leather. She threw the brunt of it over her shoulder, Alistair fumbling to catch it. The rest she hid in her robes.

"What is going on here? Where are Lothering's forces?"

"People have been streaming in from the south. A group of wounded Ash Warriors came through too. The army has gone north, at Regent Loghain's request." The words fell from the leader's mouth, his hands raised and eyes wide. Gwyn thought he was going to pass out.

"_Regent_? Oh, that bastard." The fury in Alistair's voice was unmistakable.

"Shit." Gwyn shook her head, stopping when she noticed a few men at the back trying to ease away.

Morrigan beat her too it, throwing down glyphs and paralysing one man who tried to make a run for it. She was quite pleased after that, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet when one man fell screaming. Alistair inched away from the witch.

"Move, and I will kill you."

Alistair thought that Gwyn was talking to him, and stopped on the spot, relaxing only when he noticed that Morrigan and Lusacan were looking at him oddly. He shrugged, like nothing happened, although his face was burning a red that would have put Gwyn's hair to shame.

"We've answered your questions. Just let us go. I've got a family to feed!"

"Where is your ring, then?"

"I, well, um -"

"Wrong answer."

In a moment, Gwyn had the leader by the throat, gritting her teeth as she pushed the last of her mana outwards. He screamed and gurgled at the fire in his veins, clawing at her wrist in the attempt of her letting him go. She looked momentarily apologetic, ripping her hand to the left, right and then back towards herself. The man's body went down, eyes wide in horror and hands grasping the remains of his throat. He fell on his side, dead. Gwyn dropped the flesh from her hands, the blood soaking into her skin once more. She looked up, and pulled a man closer, intent on doing the same once more.

His men leapt into action at that moment, Alistair too, swinging his shield at those who strayed close to Gwyn. He, however, kept his distance, just as scared by what happened as the men who easily fell to his blade. Even Morrigan looked horrified, but her mask fell in place once she caught Alistair staring. A sharp glare sent his looks elsewhere.

All the men were dead in little time, and Gwyn rifled through various pouches, lips pursed as Lusacan snuffled through others. There was an odd silence between the group, and it chilled Alistair to his core. Unsure of what to do, he walked around an overturned carriage, pausing at the sight of something he might have worn, once upon a time, had Duncan not saved him.

He crouched down beside a Templar's corpse, retrieving a letter from one of his pouches and a small locket with a picture of a pretty woman inside. A pang filled Alistair, as he looked behind at the other corpses. Some or _most_ of the men they had just slain probably had families somewhere. Gwynaeth had just ripped a man's jugular out without even thinking about that.

Bile rose and he forced it down. He was not going to think about it. He was not going to ponder on the men's fates and what might have happened if Gwyn had not been there. Or the fact that a man's jugular was sitting not to far from where he was.

The images sat behind his eyelids, and he leaned over the edge of the highway. He felt the disapproving looks on his back, but he didn't care. He had seen _bad_, but _this,_ coupled with the Tower of Ishal was not helping. He was going to lose his sanity if Gwyn ripped anymore people apart.

That didn't help.

Gwyn watched Alistair with a sigh. She wanted to rub her hands over her face, but didn't want to touch her skin. Her skin looked that little more flushed, and she felt that little bit better. She knew what she did. She knew she just pulled a man's jugular out. She wondered what people would have done if she ate it - screamed _demon_ and killed themselves. She wasn't. At least, she was sure she wasn't. The demons were drawing closer, but they weren't brave enough to force their way in. They knew as well as she did that she would end her life faster than they would be able to take it.

Irving would be so disappointed in her if he saw her now.

She stepped over bodies, lifting her robe just that little bit to avoid it getting caught in some blood. Lusacan followed her obediently, with Morrigan and Alistair trailing behind.

His stomach grumbled, and he placed a hand over it. As they stood at the edge of Lothering, with the sun setting, Alistair almost forgot what had happened, and remembered why they were here.

"Lothering - as pretty as a painting."

"Ah, so you've decided to return to us. Falling on your blade in grief too much trouble?" Alistair noted he wasn't the only one who pretended that the last few minutes hadn't existed.

"Is my pain so hard to understand? What if your _mother_ died?"

"Before or after I stopped laughing?"

"Right, creepy. Forget I asked."

"Already have."

"You have been quiet, Alistair," Gwyn spoke up, glaring at Morrigan.

Morrigan honestly didn't understand the attraction between the two. It was _there_. She had seen it as clear as day. Alistair put in that much more effort when getting between the enemy and the spellcasters if Gwyn was beside Morrigan. Otherwise, he seemed to slack off a little. And _Gwyn_, she just strung him along during the day, turning into something sweet and vulnerable under the cover of the night, pulling all of Alistair's strings. It irritated Morrigan to her core.

"I know. I was just thinking."

"No wonder it took so long."

"Both of you, please!" Gwyn interrupted as Alistair opened his mouth to retort. She wasn't sure if she could take any more of their banter.

They looked at her, and she huffed, the edge of her fringe flying upwards. "What are we going to do?"

"Have you read the treaties?"

Gwynaeth almost shot him a dirty look. She had scanned them briefly upon leaving the Wilds when Ostagar was still standing - but, honestly, that was only because she wondered how much the documents were worth. That thought was followed by consideration in becoming a morally sound person to keep the demons at bay. She never knew when she was going to end up impaled on several swords like the Queen of Antiva, after all.

"Briefly."

"Well, we have three groups -"

"Dalish elves, the dwarves and the mages, I know."

Alistair narrowed his eyes. "I still think trying to get Arl Eamon's forces to help aid us is a good direction to head in as well."

"That, and coupled with him being a powerful political figure, I agree. _However_, who is leading this party?" She looked between the two, hands on her hips. Lusacan mimicked her, eyes narrowed and head swinging back and forth.

"I, well, you, I suppose."

"That's just peachy."

Gwyn sighed. That _did_ explain the lack of help when they stood against the highwaymen. And all the other people they ran into. And when they met that merchant. _Fantastic_. She now had a duty, and followers. Her life never ran out of complications.

It made her escape plan that much harder.

"Where is everyone located then?" Her hands hit the air above her as she caved.

* * *

**_EDITED: 25/10/2011_**


	7. Chapter vii

**I actually really, really, genuinely **liked** Bethany. I know a lot of people didn't. I didn't like Carver. I only just recently forced myself to continue my mage!Hawkes so I could continue the Isabela-romance and Fenris-romance. True story, bro.  
**

**Anyway, read, enjoy (or not), and review. Feedback of any kind is appreciated. Thank you.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Dragon Age, I would have to do all my own voice-overs. That would be _lame_.**

* * *

She wandered about Lothering, hands tucked under her armpits to try to get rid of the cold that was sitting in her veins. She wondered what happened to her cloak, and if it was possible to ever retrieve it. It was a desire that was destined to not be brought into reality, and Gwynaeth allowed herself a sad sigh at that thought. The material was worth her weight and more in gold, and coupled with the enchantments laced into the embroidery, it was a very expensive, exquisite gift. Almost one of a kind; the almost being that she wasn't quite sure if the tailor had put the effort into another.

_And from father too_, she mused, eyeing the various armour on display with little enthusiasm.

Her thoughts left that path, instead falling on the inevitable need for an upgrade in Alistair's armour - she was amazed it was holding together after the continuous battering it had taken. And she had to admit, she was hoping that it was going to just fall off soon.

A dull ache, unrelated to her thirst for lyrium, the inevitable desire for blood-related power and food in general, was welling in her stomach. Once upon a time, it was easy to be rid of, but now there were plenty of obstacles, only increasing her lament at being dragged from the Circle. She bit her lip. She wasn't entirely desperate, willing to wait a little longer until they reached somewhere like Denerim, but she only had so much holding her back. This particular ache, along with the others, was sure to make her one very unhappy mage. And, nearly everyone had seen her like that. Not a terribly pretty sight.

An argument reached her ears, and she peered around the edge of the wagon, raising an eyebrow. A priestess and the owner of the _fine_ gear were having a heated talk about the price of the goods.

She thanked the Maker for the slight distraction. Dwelling on things only intensified their presence, or so Irving had said once.

Gwyn looked down at the armour in her hands, and knew the quality was bad, but floundered for a minute on the possibilities of a discount. She inched closer, having a look inside various chests at the jewellery on display.

_Morrigan had a keen eye for this sort of thing_, Gwyn thought. She had seen the other mage eyeing off the jewellery embedded in her skin and sitting around her neck earlier. She could pierce the other mage's ears for her if she really wanted it - it didn't hurt _that_ much …

"You there! Come help clear this woman out!"

Gwyn looked up, vague interest on her face. Clasping her hands behind her back, she walked up to them. She could smell the corruption on both parties, unsurprising and making her less inclined to buy from the man.

"You yelled?" she drawled, looking at the priestess with a certain about of dislike. The Chantry was still pushing their noses into everything. _Typical_.

She almost didn't want to help the woman, but she needed to have the prices reduced. She wasn't going to pay that much for another ill-fitted make. Alistair really couldn't afford to take a sword to the gut. It was one of those moments that Gwyn regretted turning her nose up at Creation.

"She is stopping good -"

"You are taking advantage of the state of -"

"Raving mad -"

"Devilish, idiotic -"

"Name-calling is a little childish, is it not?" Gwyn cut in, her soft voice barely heard over the yelling.

She was sure that if the woman wasn't a priestess, and the man wasn't wearing a ring, they would have been lovers.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alistair look over at her. He was standing on the steps of the Chantry, watching along with several other Templars. She had forgotten that tiny detail, the nagging thought at the back of her mind. It wouldn't surprise her if he handed her over. The Grey Warden part handed her autonomy, but if they examined the corpses currently baking in the high sun too closely, she was running. No messing around for her.

She directed her attention back to the pair of children. "Drop the prices or lose your goods."

She didn't even want to hear what they were going to say. She could smell oppression and gin, and it wasn't a good mix. The ache returned, nearly making her gag.

The man swore loudly, but agreed, snarling and gnashing his teeth as Gwyn bought out all his potions, elfroots that were still useable, and vials. Herbalism was not her strong point, at all, but she could mix up a batch of health poultices faster than the man could pocket her coin.

"If you don't want the money, I will leave."

The man growled and walked away. The priestess - mother, she reminded herself - thanked her, saying some drabble about the Maker and 'to walk in Andraste's light'. The usual crap the chanter at the Circle fed the little boys and girls, before warning them of the plight they carried, with an underlying message of turning tranquil.

She turned away. And people thought she didn't take notice.

Wandering from the growing crowd of people who were now able to afford such things, the ache returned, as did the other thoughts she had thought she stored away.

Lightly praying for another distraction, she was surprised to find it so quickly, and impressed at who the Maker had delivered to her doorstep this time. Certainly not the person she had expected on a normal day, nor the one that she would have called for. Well, if there ever was a Maker, He certainly moved in mysterious ways, as those blasted chanters and priests reminded her.

The distraction was another robe, distinctly blue amongst the sea of brown, which raced past her, along with the familiar tattoos and piercings. The man remained decidedly uninterested in his surroundings, bumping into a number of refugees and dropping a multitude of things as well.

She certainly hadn't called on him, and probably wouldn't have on a normal day for that reason alone. He was next to useless.

"Of all the holes in the ground," she muttered under her breath, and followed the dark skinned man to rundown house.

The man hurried in, door slamming shut behind him with no physical interaction. A reckless move in a town filled to the brim with Templars, even she would have said. Gwyn waited outside for the briefest moment, before throwing the door open with her own show of magic - _might as well put everything on the table_, she told herself.

Two men were inside, her fellow mage and another unknown, but from the looks of him, just another stupid mercenary. She had enough of them to last this life and the next.

"Fredrick Hallows, I want my payment. Now."

The man looked like he had seen a ghost, which amused her greatly. She _was_ quite pale, now that she thought about it …

"Holy shit! Gwynaeth! I thought you were dead!" He made a run for one of the back rooms.

But Gwyn was faster, and knocked him back before he could get a head start. The mercenary started shouting, and a swift punch of stone to his face knocked him out cold.

"Amell! Please, we were friends!"

She stalked towards him, hand raised and covered in hard ridges of the earth. "What are you doing here, Hallows?" Her due payment was forgotten in the rush of adrenaline filling her.

There was a pause, and she could see genuine confusion in his eyes. Confusion filled her own, and they stayed like that for a moment, trying to understand what the other was saying.

"You haven't heard?" It was a meek question, only so quiet as Hallows was unsure of how the terrifying woman would react.

She kicked him in the ribs, not so hard as to break anything, but enough to know that he shouldn't ask stupid questions. She had enough stupid to fill several lifetimes, too.

"I haven't _heard_ anything. I was at Ostagar for the past week, thank you very much."

A slight lie. Wasn't far from the truth. But she was sure the old bat residing in the Wilds wouldn't like the Circle and their Templar _masters_ after her. Hallows was just that kind of person. Kind of like herr, but not as discreet.

"We heard. Oh, Maker, we heard."

He seemed genuinely distressed. Gwyn recalled that his lady had been one of the mages assigned to Ostagar's forces. She could only imagine what happened. Her imagination, she was sure, fell short of the truth, but she wasn't about to push it. The cheery nightmares the current blood flowing through her veins as well as demons was enough.

"What happened?"

She reached down and grabbed his robes by the front, raising him high enough that he began to panic.

"Tell me!"

He began babbling about this and that, motioning with his hands faster and faster, sending waves of blue outwards with each motion. It was almost distracting, but the only sentence she caught made him have her full attention. "There was a break in Templars -"

"And?" She shook him for good measure.

Hallows swallowed loudly. "Uldred," he rasped.

Gwyn dropped him, and rubbed her face with her hands, ignoring his grunt of pain. "What has Uldred done?"

"It isn't a matter of what he has done, it is a matter of what he hasn't done," there was a pause, and she peered down at Hallows from between her fingers, "Gwynaeth, he's taken over the Tower."

"That's impossible. Irving wouldn't have allowed that," she scoffed.

"No, but when demonology and blood magic is involved, well, we all know what happens next." A pointed look, and Gwyn zapped him with a bolt of lightning. No need to remind her of past mistakes now. He wasn't in any position to even tempt her to kill him. She was ready to if he said anything wrong.

"How did you get out?"

"Between the rest of us who managed to escape. _Barely_. Hijacked a few boats that they thought we didn't know about, and magicked our way across."

"Of course."

There was a small, satisfied grin on his lips. No doubt they had bragged to that one boy who refused to stay put. She could never remember his name, but only his smile. And how much he looked like Alistair.

"Gwynaeth, if you are done interrogating me, I think you have company."

She kicked him again, harder, and turned around. Through the dirty windows, two large, dark eyes peered at her. Upon being spotted, they fled with their owner.

She would find the girl. Lothering wasn't that big, after all. It didn't worry her that much anyway, she would be gone before morning even greeted its people.

"Hallows, I want my payment before night falls. And I mean it."

She left the man behind, and followed the trail to a better off house, but still needed to fix the hole in the roof. She knocked, twice, and waited.

At no answer, she spoke. "Tell anyone about what you saw, and I will find you."

Gwyn looked at the house once more and turned away.

"You said you were at Ostagar!"

It was rushed, but the voice, probably softer than it had appeared, held that underlying meekness only ever attributed to mages. Especially those on the run.

She could taste the mana running through the girl on her tongue. A lot of untouched potential. And fear. Sadly, unsurprising.

Gwyn raised her eyebrows. "That I did. Amongst other places. Why?"

"Did you see my brother and sister? Carver and Sloane Hawke?"

Gwyn stared at the girl. They would have had to have been the same age, although where Gwynaeth towered, she hunched. The girl was a dark golden brown, most likely from working the fields or spending too much time in the sunlight. Or it could have been a family thing, for all Gwyn knew. And her hair was that rich black that she wanted so badly.

Jealousy filled her swiftly. "I probably wasn't located near their camp. I apologise."

A sad look filled the girl's face, and Gwyn wasn't quite sure if she should stay.

She cleared her throat uncomfortably, and looked around. "An apostate in Lothering is a dangerous position. I'm doing you a favour - get out now. Not only the Templars, but the rest of the darkspawn horde are on their way. Take your family and go."

There. One stroke of niceness to pay back for the distractions His Holiness provided. Now she would just leave and be done with the village …

"You … are a mage as well?" the tone was hopeful, and too bright for her liking. It made her feel slightly sick.

"Yes." Gwyn was being decidedly cautious, intent on fleeing if need be.

"How could you tell?" the curiosity was overwhelming as well.

"You don't know?" Gwyn couldn't hide the incredulous tone in her voice. The girl looked away, slightly ashamed.

"Sorry. Well … I could teach you? It would help you to be able to tell if the Templars are coming as well."

Gwyn inwardly groaned as the girl's expression brightened to a degree that was just unnatural. She wasn't quite sure what she had gotten herself into.


	8. Chapter viii

**Again, I'm kind of iffy on this, but I think I'm mostly happy.**

**Anyway, read, enjoy (or not), and review. Feedback of any kind is appreciated. Thank you.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Dragon Age, I would have to do all my own voice-overs. That would be _lame_.**

* * *

Alistair stared at the sleeping form of the other Warden with a certain amount of interest. When she had returned to them in Lothering, ready to depart, she was in an oddly light mood; a drastic change from the terrifying one she was in hours prior. Not that he was complaining - he found he liked her a lot more when she was smiling as opposed to turning the elements to her own purposes.

She even went so far as to humour the bard-turned-sister, and bargain with the Revered Mother. Alistair knew, however, that the sister was the bargaining chip with the Mother. That, and the _Qunari_. All with the promises that they would be out of sight before the sun had set, kept safe or under lock and key. He couldn't quite say 'respectively' on that matter, as he still wasn't able to tell _who_ she was locking up and keeping safe. He knew enough that it was one of those things he wasn't going to question the mage about.

Gwynaeth had them leave hours before the Revered Mother even thought about sending Templars after them, with enough time to help out with the Chanter's Board, and rattle a few locals. _Just for good measure_, she assured him with a wink when he had spoken up about how she was in a rather _giving_ mood.

Still, he found he didn't mind her when she wasn't so … _evil._

His eyes fell on the book clasped between her hands, rather worn and dog-eared. She had spent quite some time scribbling away in the book prior to falling asleep, and Alistair's curiosity had grown every time she looked up, peering into the fire as if expecting some kind of answer. Maybe she was, Alistair didn't know. _Were mages able to send signals through fire?_ It was another question to add to the list he had about them.

If it was a journal, he had to admit that he wondered what she had written about him - if _anything_, of course. He wasn't quite sure if he was that important to her yet, apart from the Grey Warden, doom, and Templar-Mage thing they had in common. Regardless of her willingness to talk with him, she didn't seem all that interested to stay on _those_ particular topics, and he wasn't quite sure what else he could talk to her about.

Talking with her was like testing the waters - was it too cold for a dive, too deep, too shallow and risk breaking your neck?

Or having your _jugular_ ripped out?

Alistair sighed at that. He wouldn't be able to forget the image that quickly, as much as he hoped. Seeing the man's face as he realised what Gwyn had done to him scared Alistair in a way he wasn't sure was possible. It chilled him to the core that such a thing was _possible_, and that someone was _willing_ to do such an act. He had thought that he had the mage pretty well figured out, but then she went and did _that_ …

And he found he knew next to nothing about her. That was partially due to Duncan not willing to divulge information, and with him certainly not going to waltz up to Cailan and ask him what he thought. Even Gwyn herself thought it was odd that _she_ was chosen amongst others clearly her superiors in skill and status, although she had skirted around details leading towards her departure and the most probable reason _why_ she was here.

As he thought about it, it dawned on him. She did seem to know _why_ she over the others was chosen in the end.

He eyed the journal. He was sure the answer was in that book between her hands. And every other answer to questions he didn't have the guts to ask.

But he wasn't going to risk it. He wasn't going to walk up to her sleeping form and take the book from her hands. What if she actually was a light sleeper?

Gwyn whimpered in her sleep, face screwing up in pain.

A throbbing settled in Alistair's temples at that moment, and blinking he saw the scarred face, needle-thin teeth and soulless eyes that belonged to the deformed dragon, Urthemiel. It screeched, and Alistair winced as the noise reverberated through his skull. The Old God repeated the noise once more, head swinging back and forth under his eyelids. Alistair willed the image away, focusing on anything but the monster.

Gwyn shot up when it ended, breathing hard and sweat beading on her forehead. The journal slipped from her grasp, and she missed the look of interest on Alistair's face as it fell open to a particularly tatty page, like she had looked back on it many times before.

Alistair gave her a small smile, eyes leaving the scrawl with effort. "Bad dreams, huh?"

She gave him a withering glance and looked around, blinking. When her surroundings became more familiar, not wherever that dragon was currently holed up, she looked back.

"It seemed so … _real_."

Even the bard looked up then, checking around to see if whatever the Wardens were talking about was stalking them. It would be just her luck to be killed only a few hours out of Lothering.

"Well, _technically,_ it was."

Her eyebrows rose slightly, and with a flippant wave of her hand, he took that as a sign to continue.

"Well, as a consolation prize for surviving the pleasant taste of _essence of darkspawn_, you will now get to hear the motivational speeches of one almighty Archdemon in your dreams, and the occasional visions of lesser darkspawn going about their day-to-day lives." He offered her a meek smile.

Gwyn nodded, and Alistair wished he was able to read minds then and there. There was something playing across her face, some kind of emotion he wasn't quite sure about, but knew the name for it - resignation. It astounded him that the mage even had it in her. Something linked to resignation was _duty_, and she had shown that she would shy away from the duties of Grey Wardens without one lick of remorse.

But now, _now_ he wasn't sure. Again.

She kept changing on him, and Alistair was struggling to keep up.

Standing, Gwyn held the journal close to her chest. "We should pull up camp, and keep moving. Bloody darkspawn and their day-to-day lives. I'll give them _day-to-day_."

Alistair grinned at she began rumbling to herself. He found that he was terribly pleased she had repeated something he had said. Most people never listened to a word he said, and she had gone ahead and repeated. Marvellous.

Another change he couldn't explain. Not that he minded.

The camp withered slowly down to the smoking fire pit, as tents and the like were loaded onto the back of Bodhan's wagon.

Fixing the last buckle of his leathers before sliding the chainmail over, he caught Gwyn's gaze.

He couldn't explain the look in her eyes, the vague look mingled with an intensity only she would understand. And then, it was gone, and she had turned to the bard, whispering with her about one thing or another - _girly_ things he was not privy to. At least it was with Leliana and not _Morrigan_ with whom she was gossiping with. The Witch would jump at an opportunity to exploit one thing or another. Leliana seemed nice enough, if just another brand of crazy in the merry band of misfits.

Gwyn looked back at him, mouth twisted into a knowing smile. He remained frozen on the spot, arms still raised with his mail not quite lowered into the right position. He recognised the look all too well.

Lusacan gave him a thoughtful glance, before padding behind the would-be Templar, and giving an almighty bark.

Alistair jumped, and his mail fell down, sitting wrong against his leathers, and catching on a buckle. He glared after the mabari with a certain amount of loathing as it wandered away, and attempted to unhinge certain parts and sit others down.

Gwyn laughed quietly, while Leliana stifled her own. Giving the mabari a good rub for being such a _good boy_, Gwyn saw a rather intelligent look in Lusacan's eyes, and smiled.

"Are we ready?"

Small noises of approval and grunts of agreement where the only noises along with the rattling of the wheels as they set off, everyone at their own pace as they set off in one of Gwynaeth's waved directions. Alistair wasn't sure she knew where she was going, but didn't mention it.

He walked ahead, Leliana beside him with Lusacan trotting behind, tongue lolling out between his teeth, pleased as punch. Looking behind, he noticed Gwyn walking beside the qunari, but making no attempt at conversation, seemingly content to just walk beside the bronze giant.

Leliana followed his gaze, smiled to herself and turned back. She had a good idea as to what Alistair was thinking.

"I am amazed Sten has allowed her to walk beside him."

Alistair turned to Leliana, curiosity building. "What do you mean?"

"Apparently, the qunari are not so _polite_ to mages as everyone else. They constrain them, I heard, with chains, and they stay that way until death."

Alistair looked back over his shoulder, and unable to help himself, allowed a snide comment to pass from his lips. "Gwynaeth strikes me as the woman who would enjoy that."

When it dawned on him as to what he said, he flushed a deep red, and looked around to see who had heard him. Leliana stared at Alistair incredulously, not quite sure she had heard him correctly.

Maybe the Templar-thing was an act? _How_ _exciting_. She was certain that this adventure of hers would not turn out to be such a terrible notion with such _drama_ covering everything. Of course they all had one particular dedication in mind, but having things bubbling away in the mean time would take minds off the end. And, it would provide more than enough entertainment.

Leliana played along; slipping back into her old identity like it was an old, misplaced friend. "You will never know until you try," she sang lightly, smiling at him ever so sweetly.

She was sure it was unhealthy to turn such a deep colour, and Alistair picked up pace, marching on ahead like a man possessed. It was truly a sight, and Lusacan ran ahead, barking happily and ignoring Alistair's attempts at keeping him quiet. Even Morrigan spared a look at the boy, before sighing to herself and returning to whatever book she held in her hands.

Leliana laughed quietly to herself, but could not deny the niggling sensation at the back of her head that everything just said between the pair had been heard. It sent a number of shivers down her spine, and she wondered where it had come from.


	9. Chapter ix

**And onwards to the Circle of Magi! Huzzah! Late update, but I meant to do this ... ages ago. Let's not get into it.  
**

**Anyway, read, enjoy (or not), and review. Feedback of any kind is appreciated. Thank you.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Dragon Age, I would have to do all my own voice-overs. That would be _lame_.**

* * *

The Tower rose from between the trees, and Gwynaeth's pace hitched the slightest amount.

She had been complaining since as far as she could remember how much she hated the blasted Tower and wanted release from it. She had received the freedom she desired under questionable circumstances_, and then_ proceeded to complain about missing her old life of comfort and the knowledge she was going to die as some old bag who could throw a man across the room without raising a finger. Not as some _hero_.

But striding into the clearing of Lake Calenhad Docks after several weeks of brooding, she finally stopped and admired it. And admitted that she _bloody well_ missed the place.

It only took her minutes to figure out that something was terribly wrong with the scenery.

"The torches are out."

It was barely a whisper, but the Bard heard the Warden as clear as day. She turned, to ask the Warden what she meant, when Gwyn hurried ahead and grabbed Alistair by the forearm. He flushed lightly, thankful for the cover of night, but stilled his tongue at the look on Gwyn's face.

"Alistair, the torches have not been lit."

He didn't know if this was something he should have known, or they were doing the old cloak-and-dagger, but he looked over at the Tower, following her gaze. He struggled to see much past the fog, and looked back, just as confused as he had been before.

Gwyn huffed and marched forward, looking back and forth for _something_ recognisable. Anything really to say that she was just imagining things after sleepless nights, but save for the inn and docks, the atmosphere didn't seem right.

As she neared the shoreline, she felt it. The _wrongness _surrounding the area she was sent a cold chill through her body. Morrigan stood beside her, eyes trained on the Tower as well. Gwyn sent the witch a desperate look, who just pursed her lips in response.

"I wouldn't be able to tell, Warden."

Gwyn sniffed, and turned hesitantly from the Tower, worry etching every line in her. She wrung her hands and talked quietly to the ferryman. Kester seemed surprised at her return, smiling and seemed to have not felt anything unusual about the lack of lighting surrounding the Tower, only annoyed that his ferry had been taken away from him without a decent explanation.

_Of course he wouldn't_, Gwyn thought as she smiled at his babbling, _people without mana are unfeeling to the unnatural. However …_

She looked over her shoulder at Alistair, who seemed to be staring at the Tower with a sort of confusion Gwyn recognised straight off. It was the confusion when children had begun to sense one-another after a certain period of time of being together, and when new Templars had begun to exercise their abilities on hapless mages - the confusion of finally understanding, and the fear of what might happen if they got _caught_.

She recalled how he had never taken his vows and had not had the opportunity to sample lyrium, to which Gwyn ended up turning to rumours and whispers, plus the slight conversation she had with Irving prior to her leave - his mother must have something to do with it. _Was she really just a serving maid?_

Storing that train of thought in the back of her mind for later, she returned to the group. Quietly, she settled them into the local inn, the _Spoiled Princess_, to which Alistair asked the owner about the origins of the name. The owner replied sarcastically, about how cheerful he was, owning an inn next to the least visited place on the face of Thedas.

"Named after my sister, who ran off to Denerim because life was that more _glamorous_. Ended up murdered and robbed blind - all the trinkets my father had spent years paying for, of course. My father died of heartbreak, and mother stopped eating. So, I inherited the blasted place."

Alistair looked like he regretted the decision to ask, and moved back over to Gwyn quietly.

"Forget I asked," he murmured aside to her.

Gwyn forced a laugh, and ordered another round whilst looking over the treaties. In her mind, they were hers, as she had been unwillingly places as leader, and thus it fell in to her hands. She was still questioning the market as to how much she could sell them off for. But then again if she did want to return _home_ ...

"So, the mages will have to come along, regardless? The Chantry just can't say 'no'?"

Alistair was certain Gwyn was talking to him, even though she had her nose all but pressed up against the _Mage's Treaty_ and a pint of ale firmly in her hand. Alistair's was sitting next to his elbow, just begging to be spilled.

"Well, an old treaty dating back several hundred years and sealed by several kings should supersede anything the Chantry says." Alistair just shrugged. "I would think so, anyway."

Gwyn raised an eyebrow. "_Should_ is the operative word here?"

"It's the Chantry. You never win, or lose."

"A controversial opinion … I knew there was a reason I kept you around."

Alistair grinned awkwardly, clearing his throat. "Well, yes … when shall we head over?"

Gwyn looked through one of the windows. "Now."

"I … don't you want to rest, or anything?"

Morrigan was already collecting her gear, and shot Alistair a particularly nasty glare, saying nothing. He wasn't sure what he had done to deserve it. Being _alive_, maybe?

"Sten, can you please stay here with Bodhan, Sandal and Lusacan? We shouldn't be too long."

The Qunari nodded, and settled himself against the wall. He would have melded in quite nicely with the décor, if the whites of his eyes weren't so obvious. Alistair suppressed a shiver. _And now, he is constantly staring. Fantastic._

Leliana helped Alistair pack the essentials, as indicated by Gwyn, and bent close enough to whisper in his ear. He held himself still. _What was with women and getting all touchy-feely all of a sudden?_

"She likes you, you know."

Alistair paused, looking up at the bard. "Really?"

Leliana just smiled and laughed to herself. "Oh, yes."

He looked over at their _fearless_ leader, who was murmuring quietly with Morrigan.

Well, he had to admit that she was fairly pleasing to look at, and she did seem to pay attention to him more than he thought possible. However, they had mostly nothing in common, except for several opinions, and her mood was just as erratic as her fighting - hard to pinpoint where she would end up next time. He was trying, oh he was trying, but she was either flying high or sinking into a bog somewhere every few minutes and he couldn't keep up. Made him want to tear his hair out. But, she was quite diplomatic, and charming, and smiled at him constantly ...

When they approached the Templar standing at the end of the docks, said Templar eyed Gwyn with a certain amount of hate.

"Another friend of yours, I take it?" It was Leliana who beat him to the punch. But, it was much quieter than he would have said it. The only indication that Gwyn had heard them was a small shake of her head.

"Well, well. Didn't expect _you_ to return alive. Did you skip out on the battle like everything else, then?"

"Glad to see you haven't sunk into the lake's watery depths yet, Carroll. Although I hear that this dock can break under the slightest amount of pressure. Did you know that?"

Carroll turned on the defensive immediatly. "Threaten me and I'll -"

"You'll what, lock me up in a Tower, far, _far_ away? There's one _right_ behind you if you are keen." There was no show of amusement. Alistair turned his head to hide his smile, however. Gwyn cleared her throat.

"Anyway, I'm a_ Grey Warden_ now. I have autonomy and I am _enjoying_ it. I believe interfering will involve some loss of anatomy for you," a pause and a small laugh, "autonomy, anatomy. Get it? No?"

Carroll hmphed and made no move to let them past. Gwyn arched an eyebrow at his lack of help. Her charm was at its wit's end when it came to Templars.

"We need to go to the Tower."

"You aren't allowed, Grey Warden or no."

"Did you miss the whole Darkspawn-Ostagar-King-Cailan_-died_ talk that has been happening for the past, hmm, three, four weeks? We need _allies_. Mages, shockingly enough, qualify for that. Oh look, I'm being really _punny_ today and you are hurting my feelings."

"Go somewhere else. We're busy."

Alistair grinned when Gwynaeth actually stomped her foot on the ground, sending little sparks upwards. Carroll gave her a wary glance. Vaguely, Alistair wondered why. Because, really, she was only acting like a spoilt child that could blow him up in a matter of seconds. Nothing to _really_ worry about. In fact, compared to a darkspawn, she was quite harmless. Almost like a really pushy, ginger kitten.

"Carroll, please don't make me make you."

"You do that, and you will be strung up high enough for the world to see."

"The view would be quite pleasant, one would assume. But for all of Thedas to see, wouldn't I have to take the Maker's seat? Wouldn't that be already marring the Black City? Wouldn't -"

"Oh, for the Maker's sake, woman. Shut. Up."

Gwyn grinned. She knew she had won. So did Carroll. And he hated losing to the woman.

"I refuse to row."

"That's fine. I know how to."

Four sets of eyes rolled over to her. "You do?" Alistair was the one who spoke up. Surprising? No.

She shrugged. "How else were we able to sneak over to the_ Spoiled Princess_ for a pint? You didn't think we managed to get completely drunk off _lyrium_ did you?" She scoffed. "We would have bled our bloody eyes out."

She stepped past Carroll and settled herself in the small boat gingerly, eyeing the water with a certain amount of loathing. Alistair, Morrigan and Leliana brushed past Carroll, who looked rather embarrassed about the outcome of the situation.

"Don't tell Greagoir it was me."

"Oh no, never. I mean, who else was guarding the boat anyway?" Gwyn gave a wave, and the boat set off towards the Tower. She blew Carroll a kiss, who in turn turned a darker shade of red. From anger or embarrassment, Gwyn couldn't tell. The fog had begun to grow.

She was grinning, but as they passed through a barrier, invisible to those who could not sense the other side, she turned away. A cold chill settled in her stomach.

She could hear the screams.


	10. Chapter x

**Poor mages. I feel bad just writing this. And, this is kind of my reaction to Alistair's dialogue. I got angry, after what he said in Lothering, and _then_ said this at the Tower. Shame on him.  
**

**Anyway, read, enjoy (or not), and review. Feedback of any kind is appreciated. Thank you.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Dragon Age, I would have to do all my own voice-overs. That would be _lame_.**

* * *

If she hadn't been in a mood, Alistair would have said she had thrown the doors open with a wave of her hands _just_ to be dramatic. But the worry that seemed so out of place made him think she was just doing it as a convenience. He had heard that the doors to the Circle could take several grown men to open even partially. But he had to wonder how she had known that particular spell to open it.

Gwyn marched up to Greagoir, seemingly furious and absolutely worried. Irving was not amongst the men crowded in the entrance. That was not a good sign. The Knight-Commander was not supposed to abandon the First Enchanter. That was what Irving had insisted when she had questioned the safety. He had promised her that for all the hatred Greagoir may have harboured for mages, he would not abandon his post or his duties. His oaths, and his pride, held him to them.

Scanning the very few mages - _children_ - she did not see Rhoswen amongst them either. Her eyes flickered over the pyre in the far corner. She hoped the girl had not gone and gotten herself killed. Gwyn had no intention of burning bodies anytime soon. Bridges, maybe, bodies, no.

Her thoughts flickered to the runaway mage. Last she heard, he was locked up in the dungeons. The door leading to the apprentice dormitories was shut. She hoped he was all right. If she was going in, she would see if he was still alive. Let him out, if he was still there.

"Well, the Maker certainly has a sense of humour."

"You are not the first to say that. I've been saying it since you fished me out of the Lake."

A brief flicker of humour crossed the weary face of the Knight-Commander. It was gone as fast as it had appeared. The lines on his face seemed deeper. It was not a comforting thought.

"What happened here, Greagoir?"

Gwyn wasn't going to dance around it. She could smell bad blood. And it had nothing to do with the burning corpses, or with her blood magic, but it was similar the smell that develops when tampering with the Veil. Or the Fade.

"Mages happened here, Amell."

"No, really? I mean, the likelihood of _that_ ever happening is -"

Greagoir raised a hand, silencing Gwyn. "Enough. Blood mages are running rampant, summoning demons. I have sent for the Rite of Annulment."

Gwyn's eyes widened. "You-you can't do that! There must be people alive!"

Greagoir shook his head. "I am sorry, Gwynaeth, but nothing you say or do will change this."

"If that is true, then maybe we should leave."

A small remark, but Gwyn turned around, eyes narrowing. "Excuse me?"

Alistair felt immense regret at speaking up. Morrigan was regarding him with a certain amount of venom he wasn't sure he deserved, and Leliana looked on incredulously, like he had sprouted a second head. But he maintained eye contact with Gwynaeth.

He had read about snakes far in the north of Thedas. Looking away meant a certain, painful death. He was sure the mage before him would find kin among such beasts. He wondered how she would react to such a comment. His future was not looking any brighter.

"I'm just saying, Gwynaeth, that if there is no hope -"

"There is hope. There is _always_ hope. Mages aren't defenceless beings." She turned to Greagoir. "And not all of us submit to demons, and blood magic, thank you very much."

Greagoir raised an eyebrow at her statement. "You did."

Gwyn looked mildly impressed, if a little dumbfounded. "When did you find out?"

"Irving revealed it not long after you left. That you had not made a deal, but read books. Or so he said."

"About the ancient uses or blood magic, yes. Healing purposes, mostly. Contact with spirits. Keeping demons locked behind bars. The traditional sort of thing."

Greagoir snorted, shaking his head. "Regardless -"

"Regardless of my previous studies, I need to go in."

The Knight-Commander studied the girl before him closely. She was thinking ahead, weighing her options. He could see that clearly. Had she not been born with magic, she would have surely made a name for herself in the years to come.

But her emotions made her careless. Her desire to run in and save her brothers and sisters was cutting her plans short. She was suffering from minor lyrium withdrawal, too. The air around her was unstable, not quite sitting in a comfortable spot. Most likely, she would raid the storerooms on her way up the Tower. Waste time. Time was precious.

And she was exhausted. Injured. Her right arm was tensed, likely she was holding in the pain, but only making it worse. With no training, she had probably tried her hand at wielding a blade, and it had not ended well. Wielded a blade against a band of raiders, most certainly.

The other man's comments were not making her decisions better.

However, as much as the elder man could tell that Gwynaeth was in no condition to run headlong into demons and abominations, he would not win.

Stepping aside, Greagoir waved his hand at the Templars guarding the door.

"How long?"

Gwyn pinched her nose. "Three hours. Any longer and I am dead."

"I would have suggested four."

"Time is of the essence, Greagoir. And as it so happens, we have wasted quite a fair amount of time exchanging pleasantries."

She brushed past him. Eyes narrowed, mind focused. She was looking for certain people. Trying to catch an aura that suggested that her foolishness might have been worth something. She dug her nails into her palm, drawing the slightest amount of blood. She would have better range, and would cover their own scent if blood mages tried to stop them. Confuse them. This she whispered to Leliana and Morrigan.

"Return with Irving. When I hear his word, I will accept that the Circle has been reclaimed."

"Understood."

Alistair hurried behind the three women. The doors opened, and Gwyn turned.

"You are to stay here."

"What?"

"You do not think I can do this. You can storm the Tower with the rest of the Templars in three hours, if you wish. Just know, I remember what you said in Lothering. That we _needed_ mages."

The treaties slapped Alistair in the face, before falling to his feet. He gaped at Gwyn's back.

"Then, you are on your own. And you will not have to worry about mages anymore."

The doors shut in Alistair's face with a wave of Gwyn's hand.

* * *

He paced, back and forth, back and forth. Greagoir had given up watching the young man an hour prior. There was little point in the man wasting energy. He would need it later.

Greagoir did hope that Gwyn would succeed. He truly did. But, he could not see it happening. She was a force, but there were greater things than a temperamental mage.

Alistair let loose a frustrated sigh. Looking up at the hourglass, he growled. She had less than two hours to return.

He would give her another few minutes, before he was going in.

Nodding to himself, Alistair knew that this was the best way. That, and he was sure it was another way to earn Gwynaeth's trust back.

* * *

She knew, tactically, that this was all wrong. Three mages, and an archer. Unless the elderly mage knew how to swing a sword, they were not going to last much longer. Range was not in their favour.

Another abomination fell to a screaming heap at Morrigan's feet, and they continued running up the flights of stairs.

Ducking into an office she recognised too well as a group of mages passed by, Gwyn locked the door, allowing them to catch their breath.

"This is madness."

"This is the only way."

"Surely there is another way."

"The Rite of Annulment is the only other way, Wynne. And with all due respect, I can't let that happen."

Morrigan was rifling through drawers, scattering books. Finding what she was looking for, she threw two more in Gwyn's direction. Swiping them from the ground and into her pack without letting Wynne see, she nodded. "Let's go."

* * *

Two hours.

The doors opened for him and shut behind him just as fast. Keeping his sword in his hand, he jogged through the quarters, surprised to find so many mages huddled within one room. The sheer number made him pause.

They raised curious eyes, but only one approached him. A small, elven woman, with hair cut too short, and winding facial tattoos. She looked like she had a bad smell under her nose, or she was just permanently irritated. Maybe both.

"She said you would turn up."

"Gwynaeth?"

A nod. The elf pointed to a door. "She is angry, but she does forgive you. And that is saying something. My Gwynaeth has never forgiven so easily."

Alistair thanked the woman, and continued onwards. He looked over his shoulder, watching the elf return to the side of another mage. A broad shouldered male, who stuck out like a sore thumb from the rest. The male glared at Alistair.

Alistair wondered what he had done, apart from being born.

A barrier flew up behind him, and the people on the other side blurred away into nothingness. He continued on, the oddities leaving his mind..

* * *

She was impeccably happy. So much that she never wanted to leave. Here she was, with brothers and sisters alike. Daughters and sons. Nieces and Nephews. A family.

That was all she wanted.

She raised her glass, and the people followed suit. Expensive garments. Music in the background. Laughter. So much laughter. Happiness.

She felt herself relax. This was definitely what she wanted.

"I am disappointed, mage."

The voice was deep, not belonging to the rest. She ignored it.

"I thought you had more resolve than this."

"Who dare speaks to the Amells like so?" A brother stood, slapping his hands down on the table.

The voice belonged to a blue tinged man, appearing in the centre of the room, floating above the table. He shook his head solemnly. Disappointed.

"You know this is all a lie."

She let a heavy sigh leave her, as she watched the figures slowly fade away. "Aye, Valour, I do."

The world went black, and all Gwyn could think was _I'm drowning. Mother, help me!_

* * *

He had to hand it to Gwynaeth, she could carve her way through just about anything.

He was in the Templar quarters now, holding his stomach down. So much blood splayed the walls. Growths covered the faces of sacred statues. Decay was the only thing he could smell.

Alistair reached a grand circular room, with a high roof. His stomach churned as his eyes tried to follow the elaborate features. Looking down, he saw the crumpled form of Gwyn.

Running over, he landed on his knees beside her. He held her in his arms, and watched the colour drain from her skin, her hair, her eyes.

Alistair closed her eyes. He didn't know what to do, now.

* * *

The Sloth demon fell before her, mouth opened wide in an unending scream of pain.

She turned her back to the spectacle, and met with Niall, who was hovering on the edge. His existence was fading. It was too late for him. She couldn't help her sorrow. She had failed one person.

"Darker times, greater heroics, huh? You once told me that."

"I remember."

"I'm glad someone does. Tell my mother, will you?"

"Of course, my friend. Safe journeys wherever you may go."

"To you as well."

Niall vanished. Black covered her vision, blinding her. She clawed at her own throat as air seemed to leave her lungs.

"Gwynaeth? Oh, thank the Maker!"

* * *

She rolled out of his arms, gasping for air. Gwyn massaged her throat, and through blurred vision, watched Morrigan, Leliana and Wynne stand, albeit unsteadily.

Looking back over her shoulder, she couldn't help the incredulity in her voice.

"Alistair?"

"Yes?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Well, I couldn't let you have _all _the fun, could I? That would be just rude."

Gwyn smiled despite herself, and leaned in close to him. "Thank you."

She kissed his cheek and stood. He flushed and followed suit, trying to come up with something witty and charming. He couldn't find any words.

With a wink from Gwyn, he regained the barest amount of courage. "We have little time left. Let's go."


End file.
